


Where There's Smoke

by dreamofhorses



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Pining, Power Dynamics, Smoking, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 17:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13956573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses
Summary: Two sides of the same photo. Timmy recently posted an Instagram pic of Armie smoking in a park before Timmy presented at the Texas Film Awards, deleted it, and then reposted it a few minutes later, which confused and entertained the fandom for hours. In discussion with two crazy-talented fellow writers i got the idea to approach the story of that photo from two angles. One presumes an angsty, pining backstory and one's darker and a bit kinky. Hope you enjoy both versions of how the photo *could* have come about.Slackerz, you bring me life.





	1. Where There's Smoke...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lookingforatardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/gifts), [NiciJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiciJones/gifts).



Timmy rolls a blade of grass between his fingers and giggles nervously. The Austin sun is warm, not like in LA where he’s always sweating and itchy in his clothes, but just right. With Armie a few feet away and Timmy flopped on his stomach beside him, it could almost be the berm where they first kissed as Elio and Oliver.

Almost, except for the guarded and teasing look in Armie’s eyes these days, the third person there beside them, the knowledge that Liz will be back from shopping anytime: all the things that make it impossible for Timmy to tell if their bond is changing, dissolving. Maybe it’s just the presence of others that has taken the Armie he knew away, the Armie who would let Timmy fall asleep in his lap, shake him awake with a soft “you  _ goose _ ” muttered under his breath, and let Timmy lean his head on his shoulder while he walked him home. Back then he could talk to Armie for eight hours over an epic meal, feet and legs tangled under the table, arguing French cinema, wine-drunk, with something always left unsaid between them at the end of the night when they’d reach their separate apartments, glancing at each other’s doors but never speaking, never asking  _ can I come inside _ or  _ why don’t we have a nightcap _ ?

Those words hung there still for Timmy, had been there through the whole promotional tour when Armie blushed at his touch, wrapped his arms around him, told journalists openly that he was in love. There were times when they were alone in hotel suites, play-wrestling after drinking beer or walking each other to the door, when Timmy heard the words so strongly he’d turn his head toward Armie, certain he’d heard  _ Don’t go, Tim. Stay. I want you here. _

But there was only silence, and so Timmy learned to read that too. He learned Armie’s contented silence when they got time alone together on airplanes for hours, learned that Armie loved it when Timmy rambled about hip-hop or made lame jokes in interviews to pull focus. He learned the tense silence when Armie finished a phone call with his mother. He learned the loving silence when Liz would put the kids “on the phone” from a continent away and Armie would just listen to them breathe. Silence was Armie’s language, and Timmy became fluent. Said nothing to Armie, ever, even when he longed to hold him when Armie drank too much or nuzzle his shoulder when he said something snide and hilarious. Instead Timmy told everyone else how long he would wait for the right person, how he couldn’t be sure his first love was over, and he hoped that Armie in his silence was hearing him too.

Maybe that was why Armie had asked him here, with no notice, the week after the Oscar campaign ended, knowing that no matter what Timmy would drop anything to be there. Maybe he’d been waiting until there were fewer cameras, fewer eyes on them, to look at Timmy and finally say, if not the words Timmy wanted to hear, then at least  _ I’ve been thinking  _ or  _ maybe if  _ or  _ we could try _ . Even the thought of it makes Timmy look up hopefully at Armie, out of some instinct born back there on their berm, that they would always hear each other. Even in silence.

Armie’s eyes are hidden, inscrutable behind his sunglasses, his cigar lending a comforting, ancient scent to the air, and to cover up his eagerness Timmy grabs his phone, snaps a pic, and throws it up on Instagram. Armie lowers his glasses lightning fast and grabs for Timmy’s phone. “What was that, man?” Armie’s voice is annoyed, impatient. Timmy wonders how he ever heard anything tender in Armie’s silences.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete it,” Timmy murmurs. “I was just trying to be silly.” He deletes the post, shows Armie the screen. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Armie’s posture doesn’t change, no one walking by would be able to tell the difference, but his eyes turn tender in an instant and for Timmy it’s like a second sun came out from behind the clouds. “No, no, Timmy, it’s OK. I’m sorry. I didn’t want Liz complaining that I smelled like cigars, but, man, you came all the way out here just for me, and I’ve been a dick lately, and you’re probably gonna give some hilarious speech and make me look good and you know what, Liz can suck it this time. I’ll deal with it. Put it back up.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to get in any trouble…” Timmy would post the photo, delete the photo, forget the  _ concept _ of photos as long as Armie keeps looking at him like this.

“I’m sure,” Armie murmurs, and so Timmy reposts the photo, same caption, but it makes him happy to see it now. Before it was an  _ excuse _ , and now he can only hope it might be a  _ cause _ .

“Hey,” Armie asks, voice still soft, “do you want some of this?” He motions with the cigar, then puts it in his mouth and draws deeply.

“I’ve…I’ve never smoked a cigar before,” Timmy mumbles, eyes still on Armie’s lips where they’ve touched the cigar, those lips that had made him punch a wall when he realized he would never be able to kiss them again, that they belonged to others now.

“Try it, then,” Armie nearly whispers, forcing Timmy to lean in closer to him to hear. Armie exhales, blowing a tiny smoke ring that drifts past Timmy’s ear. Timmy tries not to notice how the ring distorts into a heart as it floats away into the sky. “Here,” and he thrusts the cigar toward Timmy.

Their fingers touch as Timmy takes the cigar, and Timmy is reassured by the jolt that runs through him when their skin connects. No one, not Liz or Armie’s parents or time itself, can change that. Timmy rests the cigar against his lower lip, relishing the warmth left from Armie’s mouth just moments before. The paper is soft and pliable from the pressure of Armie’s lips. There’s saliva there still, and Timmy presses his lips against the wettest spots,  _ if these cells have to die let them die inside my body _ .

“Now first you draw in, pull it into you, it might hurt a little at first,” Armie instructs, staring at the cigar, although for a second Timmy swears Armie’s staring at his mouth as it contracts, and that the cigar is just an excuse. Timmy pulls deeply on the cigar and the taste of smoke floods his mouth, his chest feels full, and the only time he’s ever felt like this before was the first time Armie’s lips touched his, when he felt like his heart might explode and the only thing he could think to do about it was to kiss longer, deeper, forever if Armie would have let him. The smoke does burn a little, but it’s pleasant, like goosebumps on the inside, and Timmy wants to hold the feeling for eternity.

“Don’t inhale, though,” Armie warns, just as Timmy’s about to do exactly that, his lungs crying out for air,  _ can’t I keep this pain and breathe at the same time, he’s finally letting me feel something and now he’s taking it away? _ “Now let go.”

Timmy looks at Armie quizzically, and he must quirk his head in a way that’s funny or fond because Armie’s tender look goes deeper for a minute. Timmy hasn’t had that look from Armie since Bergamo.

And then a curtain falls behind Armie’s eyes. “You’ve gotta let it go, man. Just push it all out at once. Otherwise it’ll sting, and you’ll hurt more later.”

Timmy’s eyes water, and at least this time he can tell himself it’s the smoke. All at once he empties his lungs, and the burns and the pain and the taste of Armie rush past his lips. He feels that emptiness that only comes after you’re truly full for the first time. He looks down at the cigar, and if a tear falls on the already damp end no one notices. Timmy hands the cigar back to Armie, and if Armie takes a moment to press it between his fingers, draws on it a bit longer than he needs to, rolls it in his mouth a little and wonders why it suddenly tastes of peaches, well, no one notices that either.


	2. ...There's Fire

“You go ahead,” Armie calls over his shoulder to his friend in the backseat. “We’ll catch up.” The door of the Escalade opens and closes, and then Armie’s alone with Timmy in the front seats. His friend heads on down to the waterfront park, pulling a cigar out of his pocket as he goes. They’ve just picked up Timmy from the airport, and everyone could use a smoke.

God, Timmy looks good. He slept on the plane, Armie can tell, and he’s so happy to see Armie that he’s wriggling in his seat.

_ I’d like to put a stop to that _ , Armie thinks, so fast that it passes the filter he’s been applying to those thoughts lately. He’s been looking at those Instagram accounts less, moved his ropes from under the bed to a box in the closet, stopped drunk-texting Timmy at 2am:  _ Grab your neck for me. Tighter. Now send me a picture.  _ The promo tour is over. No matter how much he loved tying Timmy to expensive gold-plated hotel beds and gagging him with the soft high-thread-count sheets, no matter how many times he thrust his cock down Timmy’s throat in dressing rooms before interviews,  _ they want you to talk but this is what that pretty mouth of yours is really for, isn’t it? Nod for me, good boy _ , it couldn’t last forever and they both knew it.

When Armie caught Timmy’s eye he could tell that’s exactly what Timmy was thinking too. Timmy loved it just as much as Armie did, loved being completely immobilized and helpless, loved it when sometimes Armie would shift, grow vulnerable, lay his head on the ropes crisscrossing Timmy’s chest and cry, or just breathe. When a touch would have been too much, would shatter him completely, Armie would just incline his head toward Timmy’s mouth and gratefully receive a stream of tiny, breathy kisses on top of his head, all that Timmy could do, but exactly enough.

Armie opened his driver’s side door and got out, crossing to the back door that his friend had so recently vacated. He opened it, ignoring Timmy’s quizzical look, and smoothly flipped a lever and folded the seat back down to leave a flat expanse. “Now,” he said, and he knew from Timmy’s expression that his lust must have colored his voice, “get back here.”

Timmy’s thin, flexible frame fit easily between the front seats and his eyes are eager when he settles his long length against the seat. He’s on his back. Armie pulls the car door closed as he climbs in to straddle Timmy, who’s still wriggling beneath him and seems completely aware of what that’s doing to Armie’s cock.

“If you don’t stop that,” Armie hisses, and before he can even finish his threat he sees the familiar mischievous twinkle in Timmy’s eye. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve been able to play around like this, and Timmy seems just as eager as Armie. His long hands reach out and grab Armie’s thighs, nails digging in, something Armie’s loved ever since Timmy tried it spontaneously while filming, and if Timmy keeps this up Armie’s going to come right then and there. Timmy starts to grind up towards him, and Armie reaches down to grab Timmy’s hands and hold them above his head. He presses his hips down into Timmy’s to hold him down, although that means Timmy can feel Armie’s erection and the power he has over him. That won’t do.

Armie holds Timmy’s wrists together with one hand and with the other unbuckles and removes his belt. Timmy’s eyes widen, but there’s no fear in them. “Always so curious,” Armie whispers, and he’s so close to Timmy that he barely needs to speak to be heard. He moves his head to Timmy’s ear and hisses, “You always want to know what happens if you don’t stop,” and Armie kisses Timmy’s earlobe, gently at first, knowing exactly where he can lick and breathe that will drive Timmy crazy, and when, inevitably, unavoidably, Timmy lifts his hips against Armie again, Armie sinks his teeth into Timmy’s earlobe quickly and without warning. Timmy yelps and stills his hips. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, exhaling, but when Armie lifts his head and catches Timmy’s eye he doesn’t believe him for a second.

Quickly and efficiently Armie brings the belt up to Timmy’s wrists and loops it around and around, looping one end around the rear door handle and buckling it tight. Timmy whimpers but goes silent when Armie reaches for the button of Timmy’s jeans.

“I.” Armie unbuttons the button. “Don’t.” He unzips the zipper. “Believe,” and he pulls the jeans down to Timmy’s knees, pleasantly surprised that Timmy hasn’t worn boxers. It’s like he knew what was coming. “You.” Armie brings his mouth to Timmy’s freed and fully erect cock. He breathes on it, brings his mouth just to the head, sees what it does to Timmy and hears him moan as he starts to roll his hips.

“Mmm-mmm,” Armie murmurs. “That won’t do. You’re gonna be doing plenty of talking later tonight. For now you’re gonna have to be totally quiet.” He rolls down the tinted window a bit, not enough for anyone to be able to see inside, but enough that anyone walking by could hear. His mouth returns to Timmy’s cock and this time he takes Timmy’s full length right away. He feels Timmy harden fully in his mouth, runs his tongue along the veins, feels blood pulsing through them against his lips. Timmy’s so vocal, so noisy usually, and he’s not making a sound, he’s trying so hard and all Armie can hear is breath, faster and faster, and stifled gasps.  _ You’re doing so good, baby,  _ Armie thinks, pulling his mouth off of Timmy with a pop. Timmy’s face is pleading, full of naked need, and he’s biting his lower lip so hard Armie’s afraid he’ll draw blood.

When Armie reaches for the door Timmy’s eyes grow confused and panicky, but still never afraid. He knows Armie by now, trusts him completely. “You’d better still be that hard when I get back,” Armie commands, and glances both ways before quickly opening the door and stepping onto the sidewalk before anyone can see inside. He opens the driver’s side door and throws a sun cover inside the windshield; between that and the extra dark window tint, no one will see what’s inside the Escalade. He locks the car and strolls toward the park, seeing his friend with his back to him. Smoking.  _ One of those Cohibas would be great right now _ , Armie thinks,  _ but it’ll be even better after I’ve finished with him. _

Armie doesn’t stray far from the car; he wants to hear it if Timmy does make a sound or it seems like something’s wrong. He spends about ten minutes strolling around the other nearby cars, always angling himself so he can’t be seen from Timmy’s vantage point in the backseat of the Escalade, and then checks both ways again before opening the back door and climbing in. For a second he just takes it in, Timmy’s long body with his slender wrists above his head, and when he catches Armie’s gaze his eyes are wild with want but calm at the core. Armie climbs onto him again, starts climbing higher this time till he’s straddling Timmy’s chest,  and this time Timmy is calm, doesn’t grind, waits for instructions. When Armie unzips his pants Timmy’s eyes brighten, he licks his lower lip, and when Armie’s cock springs out of his boxers Timmy’s tongue curls out of his mouth in anticipation.

Patience is, by this point in the experience, not going to be Armie’s virtue. As soon as his cock hits the back of Timmy’s throat he closes his eyes and pushes one hand against the ceiling of the car. He grabs the back of Timmy’s head with the other and Timmy raises his head to deepen the contact. “F-Fuck,” Armie hisses, and when he comes Timmy stills his head and holds Armie’s cock in his mouth until he’s completely drained.

Armie slides down to lay his head on Timmy’s chest, listening for a moment to Timmy’s heart beating through his flannel shirt. There’s nowhere else he’s ever felt this safe. “God, Tim, I just--“

“I know.” Timmy’s voice is rough and heartbreakingly sincere. “I know.”

Armie reaches a hand up and undoes his belt, massaging Timmy’s wrists gently. There’s a small bruise on one of them. “I’ll lend you a watch tonight to cover that up,” Armie says apologetically.

He reaches to pull up Timmy’s jeans and Timmy looks at him with confusion and need. Armie knows he should reassert his upper hand. “You don’t think you were  _ that _ good for me, do you?” he asks teasingly, and softly slaps the side of Timmy’s still-erect cock. “You’ve gotta be way better to me before you get to do anything about  _ that _ ,” and he massages Timmy’s erection quickly before sitting back on his heels. “Now get dressed. We’ve got people to meet.”

They walk together to the hillside where Armie’s friend is still smoking his cigar. Armie points to a spot on the grass and Timmy obediently lies down on his stomach. Armie can tell he’s trying not to press his erection against the grass and make things worse. Armie pulls a cigar from his jacket, lights it, leans back on the grassy hillside. It’s a lovely day and his Timmy is there, and no one even has to know this moment exists…

At that instant Timmy points his phone at Armie and snaps a picture. The kid’s so social media savvy, he’s probably already posted it by the time Armie even registers that it’s happened. Does he really feel like having a fight with Liz about the smoking again? It’s not worth it, not on this trip. Timmy’s followers will just have to do without this one. Armie turns to Timmy and cocks an eyebrow, shakes his head almost imperceptibly but he knows Timmy picks up on it. Immediately, Timmy punches a couple of buttons on his phone, shows Armie his Instagram, shows him the post was deleted.

Unfortunately, the only thing that turns Armie on more than Timmy obeying him is Timmy disobeying him. As soon as Armie sees that Timmy deleted the post on his command alone he gets that familiar warmth in his stomach and his cock, so recently satisfied, starts to wake up again. Armie draws deeply on his cigar and leans toward Timmy. When they’re mere inches apart, Armie reaches out with his thumb and pulls Timmy’s lower lip down. Timmy doesn’t need to be told twice, and opens his mouth fully to receive whatever Armie wants to give him. Armie purses his lips and blows a funnel of smoke into Timmy’s waiting mouth. Timmy catches on instantly, inhales, grins at Armie while holding the smoke in.

“I’d hate to have to…punish you…for a stunt like you just pulled. That wasn’t a very  _ nice _ thing for you to do at all,” Armie teases under his breath. “And I know you don’t want to be on my bad side.” Armie’s eyes are light, mocking, and the Austin sunlight dances in them. Timmy’s gaze turns dark with imagination as he exhales Armie’s cigar smoke into the warm afternoon air.

When Armie settles back onto the grass, Timmy looks down and starts to fiddle with his phone again. Armie could swear he’s hiding a grin. Armie’s phone vibrates in his pocket seconds later. Timmy’s tagged him in a photo. Their eyes meet. “I’m gonna have to teach you about that,” Armie says under his breath, so that his friend can’t hear him but he knows Timmy can.

Armie can’t wait.


End file.
